


Goddamned Kitty Mittens

by fitried



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Confessions, Crushes, Fluff, Jean Kirschtein is very silly but he'll be okay, M/M, Mostly very innocent, SNK 77 Recovery, Secret Crush, broom closets i guess, you might get a lot of second hand embarrassment so be prepared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6082143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitried/pseuds/fitried
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein deals with his feeling in a very reasonable way and gets forced into situations he does not deserve to be in by his terrible, horrible, friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goddamned Kitty Mittens

**Author's Note:**

> Has SNK 77 left you in shambles? Are you yearning for unproblematic AUs and are still in denial?  
> Then this is the fic for you!
> 
> Seriously though this entire thing is all part of my coping mechanism and I needed to write something cute/funny to help me deal. Nothing terrible happens and everything is okay except for me so no worries, all is well for now and you can have something nice (because you deserve it).
> 
> I occasionally [tumblr](http://fitried.tumblr.com/) and regularly [twitter](https://twitter.com/fitried_) so it would be awesome if I could find you there and maybe we can cry about things together, who knows! 
> 
> Also, pleeaase tell me what you think of this because feedback makes things so much better and I'd love to hear from you!

 

Jean Kirschtein doesn’t like to admit the fact that he’s in a broom closet right now.

He hates that this isn’t his first time in one either but, here we are.

In fact, one might say Jean Kirschtein is very well acquainted with the anatomy of an ideal broom closet; he is a broom closet connoisseur, even. He knows where the shelves should be and he knows exactly when you haven’t cleaned the place up in a while, _and_ he knows where the brooms go. Honestly he hasn’t seen many brooms in broom closets and there isn’t really much that you can say about one other than ‘dingy’ and ‘dark’ but might as well pretend there’s something to say while we’re in here, right?

Jean could tell you that he is in here for a very reasonable issue which would force any man, _nay_ , even one as great as himself, to such extents, but he’d be lying. He’d be lying so terribly that you’d want to punch him in the face. Repeatedly.

So he’s not going to lie, but he’s definitely not going to tell you the whole truth _willingly_. He’s awfully comfortable hiding from everyone and telling himself he can do this until he’s finally gotten his shit together, there’s no need to be so curious about this. Just give the guy a minute and stop being so inquisitive, _geez_. It’s like a bro can’t hang out and chill in a closet any more.

It’s a totally dude-like thing to do, he assures you. Dudes do it all the time, even the manly ones with big muscles. They get bothered and flustered and sometimes they need to just isolate themselves in the perfect broom closet and take a moment to try and process the fact that their crush is wearing-

 _Hey,_ no! You misunderstand! _Jean_ would never hide in a closet because of a _crush_! That was totally hypothetical! It’s like you’ve just got to take everything literally!  
Jean doesn’t get all messed up over things like crushes, he’s a cool guy. He wears Ray-Bans and everything, and old band t-shirts. He’s even been to a concert once and yes it does count even if it was just Sasha’s garage band playing at a birthday party.

What matters is that _Marco_ thinks he’s cool. Marco thinks _everyone_ is cool. For god’s sake the guy would probably be impressed if you could tell him the way to the nearest super market. Marco himself is a National level chess champion who was on their school’s swim team, plays the ukulele, the flute, the piano, _and_ always got straight As since first grade, not to mention he’s freaking trilingual. It’s like he’s got the word ‘impressive’ tattooed onto his forehead and he can’t see why, but his friend knows how to hold a pencil and suddenly he’s all starry eyed. It’s pretty cute, actually. Just like everything else about Marco. In-fact, just the other day, Jean was just sketching a damn bird or something when-

 

“Knew you’d be in here, Seabiscuit.”

 

The door opened. Connie Springer popped his freaking bald head in and light shone into Jean’s sanctuary of darkness but he did not notice because he was too damn busy thinking about Marco Fucking Bodt. This isn’t even the _first_ time this exact situation has occurred goddammit.

Of course, given that Jean is a big wuss in a broom closet and was completely oblivious to Connie’s presence until he opened his mouth, he jumps a mile high at the sound of this foreign voice and fucking screams. He has to scream, obviously.

“Connie get the fuck out!” he yells at the short bald man, who looks awfully freaking smug and it’s not _fair_.

“No way dude, Armin says we’re playing Monopoly.” Says Connie, blasting open the door of the closet and standing with his arms crossed as Jean tries to adjust to the brightness.

“I don’t even _like_ Monopoly.”

“That’s okay. I’ll just tell everyone you’d rather suffer your emo phase in a broom closet.”

“Hey listen, you know what, I heard this study that says Monopoly brings friends together. I guess I’ll play now.”  
Connie snorts and stands like a short bald fence before Jean as he tries to leave the closet.

“Stop right there Mojojojo.”, he announces like a loser, “You still haven’t told me why you were here in the first place.”

“I was checking up on the cleaning work.” says Jean, sticking his nose up and pretending like Connie isn’t a fucking perceptive prick.

“Yeah, yeah, what else?” Jean hates the way Connie’s grin stretches.

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, Kirschtein. I could tickle you for answers.” He wiggles his fingers in the air to ascertain that it’s not an empty threat and that he can be ruthless. It works.

“What’s with the third degree!” Jean protests, shoving at Connie fruitlessly. Shorty stands his ground and points at Jean’s forehead, eyebrows crunched together, like he’s trying to be Edward Cullen or something.

“It’s because of Marco again isn’t it.”

“N-no.” Jean wrings his hands behinds his back and shakes his head vigorously, as if Connie will believe him. He retreats a little into his closet, hoping that his friend will just magically forget that he is here.

Connie snorts and whacks the blond across the head, “Come on, Jean, the poor guy’s not even singing Spanish love songs this time.”

Jean cannot _believe_ Connie went _there_

“Hey! You admitted that shit was hot, you don’t get to judge me!” he defends, whacking Connie in return but not gently. Marco singing Spanish love songs is the closest that Jean has ever come to witnessing a miracle and you _cannot_ fault a guy for freaking out about that, alright? Of course, Connie doesn’t understand and flicks Jean’s nose, causing him to stumble backwards out of disdain and thereby knock down a box full of old manuals from the shelf.

All five of them tumble loudly onto the floor; one of them making a brief, painful, stop on Jean’s head.

“Alright I gotta give you that one but he hasn’t done _anything_ out of the ordinary today.” Says Connie, as though he has not just caused his friend immense pain.

“First of all: Ow.” says Jean, furiously rubbing his head, “You didn’t see his mittens.”

“Mittens?”

“He’s wearing _kitty_ mittens.”

Connie wrinkles his nose, “Jean. What the fuck kind of kink is that?”

At this, Jean deftly grabs one of the fallen books and smacks Connie across the head.

“It’s not a kink, _it’s just cute_ ” he hisses, glaring at Connie whilst he nurses his own sore head and looks confused.

Connie shakes his head, like it’s completely unbelievable, “You’re hiding in here because Marco is cute?” he asks, “But Marco is always cute, I think we agree on that unanimously.”

“I, in fact, am the most enthusiastic advocate of this movement. Which is exactly why Marco getting _fucking cuter_ does not bode well for my mental health.” Jean puts the book haphazardly on the shelf closest to him and tries not to blush. Of course, he’s totally burning up in the face. And entire body. He’s also trying not to think of Marco wearing kitty mittens and smiling like it isn’t -13 degrees outside. The blush is getting worse.

Connie hums and nods solemnly like he’s about to tell Jean some bad news, “That’s fucking sappy bro.” he says. Goddamn Connie Springer.

“Connie a very large washing machine manual just fell on my head and I have a bloody _headache_ now, so-’’

“You have a headache?”

 

Shit on a _stick_

 

“Jean, why is your face red? Did you fall sick?”

 

ShitSHIT

 

It’s Marco Bodt. A moment passes in silence as this realization dawns upon the other two. By the end of this moment, Jean feels like his entire life has taken a straight dive to hell and Connie is trying so hard to hold in his laughter that he looks like he’s going to pop a vein. Jean is in shock, his mouth remains open in mid-speech but nothing comes up except for a dry whimper.

“ _He was checking up on the cleaning work._ ” squeaks Connie. He turns around to look at the questioning look on Marco’s angelic, innocent, face. And then he cracks.  
It starts, at first, with short bursts of giggles that grow into bouts of laughter which, ultimately, lead to Connie Springer holding on to his stomach and snorting between hysterics in the most unattractive way possible

During the progression of this, Marco’s expression grows more and more curious until it turns into that of worry, while Jean Kirschtein panics and watches his life shatter before his very eyes and the very beautiful brown ones that belong to Marco Bodt.

That would have been earth-shattering enough even if the rest of their friends and literally the full extent of Jean’s meagre social circle hadn’t come upstairs to find out why Connie Springer is howling with laughter. What they see is the unfortunate mess that is Jean looking like he has accepted death inside a broom closet, Connie crying on the floor, and Marco looking like he’s three seconds away from calling an ambulance to assist his fallen friend.

Immediately, Sasha runs to her bald boyfriend and shakes him by the shoulders which, apparently, make things even funnier for Connie who starts laughing so hard that he isn’t even breathing.

“What the fuck is happening here?” Ymir asks in monotone, an arm around her tiny girlfriend Christa who is giggling politely behind her even tinier palm.  
At this, of course, Connie resurfaces.

“The _cleaning_.” he breathes before snorting and falling back into his fit of hysterics. Sasha is still shaking him and screaming to ask him if he’s okay, a pointless endeavour, but at least Marco looks relieved to see that Connie can still talk.

“What?” Eren Jaeger moves in closer, ready to poke his nose into matters that do not concern him once again. Armin, however, is smart enough to approach the most reliable of the available sources.

“…Marco?” he asks, failing a trying to not look extremely entertained by the torn look on Marco’s face. Marco looks between the small blond, Connie and Jean, and then shrugs.

“Jean said he had a headache, then Connie said something about checking up on the cleaning and then suddenly, _this_ happens.” he gestures vaguely toward Connie, “I…really don’t know.”

Armin’s eye twitches and he is struggling not to laugh, “I’d ask Jean why he was in a broom closet to fix a headache but the look on his face tells me I won’t get an answer.”

“Yes.” says Jean, avoiding eye contact with anything that’s not Connie so he can devote all his attention to a searing stink eye.

Connie seems to be sobering up under the effect of Jean’s hatred because he is now breathing ( a tragedy) and no longer howling. Sasha rejoices and he assures her of his health with a pat on the back. Slowly, his snorting ceases and he is left wheezing, bright red. In fact, his laughter is now replaced by the most suspicious grin Jean has ever witnessed. This is not an improvement.

The audience waits for Connie’s testimony on the events of the evening. Reiner and Bertholdt are peering at him intently, Ymir looks almost illegally amused and even Mikasa seems curious. Annie looks like she would much rather be downstairs drinking hot chocolate and Jean has never related to her more in his entire life.

 

But Marco is here. Marco, with his kitty mittens, is here and staring at Connie for answers. The atmosphere is tense. Jean wants to die. The look on his friend’s face indicates nothing but trouble, and there is little hope to save anyone now.

 

Connie opens his mouth, the apocalypse ensues.

 

“I think Jean and Marco need to have a talk.”

***

 

The events that took place after Connie’s declaration were terrifying beyond compare.

 

Jean and Marco simultaneously asked “ _What?_ ” which was followed by Armin’s Eureka-like “Oh!” that went and sparked the chain of even _more_ “Oh!”s from the rest of their friends. It was as if this entire crime was staged; everyone knew what was to happen except for Jean and Marco, who were explicitly looking at anything but each other, sharing matching looks of betrayal and bewilderment.

What happened next was more frightening still.

Jean was dragged forcefully away from his closet by Mikasa and Marco was pushed after him, courtesy of Reiner. Both Jean and Marco were protesting loudly, to equally nil responses. Both were shoved into Jean’s room by their cheering crowd of friends and ordered to stay there until they had finished their ‘talk’.

It was a nightmare.

But at least they hadn’t thrown Marco into the broom closet with him because that would have been even _more_ awkward than _this_.

Although, _this_ is terrible as it is.

Marco is almost glued to the door, wringing his hands behind his back and looking so red in the face that Jean is afraid he’ll burst. He still won’t look Jean in the eye and he’s biting his lip which is making it very hard for the blond to concentrate on starting conversation. Which is fine, actually; staring at Marco is a better alternative by far. His room’s lighting has always been unfairly flattering to Marco’s features. It makes his brown hair look softer and it brings out his strong jaw-line very nicely in particular. Jean has a slightly shaper one himself but he much prefers Marco’s so-

“Um.”

Jean blinks in surprise. Marco is initiating conversation. Okay, that’s probably a good thing because one of them needs to move this forward. Jean has refused to think about what this situation means and why it is happening but maybe it’s time he started.

“Why…Why were you hiding in that closet?”

Nope. He doesn’t need to think about anything. He can go right back to hating Connie and the rest of his friends and spite them all for making him a prisoner in his own home. Jean gave them hot chocolate and now they’ve forced him to talk and have held him hostage. They will never be forgiven.

“I wasn’t hiding.” he says meekly, knowing that Marco is too smart to fall for this bullshit. Anyone is too smart to fall for this bullshit, Marco especially.

At least he doesn’t tease, “It’s okay, Jean.” he offers.

The way Marco says his name has always been a rather delightful sound but Jean would right now like to pretend that he can’t hear anything at all. Marco is, however, actually looking at him now and doing that very small, understanding, smile that makes Jean very weak in the knees.

“If I tell you I’d have to kill you.” he says.

Marco scoffs, which is rude considering he was threatened, “Jean, you couldn’t even kill a spider.”

Jean would have much liked to argue with that but the fact remains that he is too afraid of anything with more than 4 legs and everyone knows.

Well, he doesn’t have anywhere to run now.

“You’re going to laugh at me.” he mutters, burying his face in his hand. There is no escape, the dreaded hour has come and Jean’s well kept secrets are about to spill out the bag.

Marco holds up his hands in peace, “I won’t! I promise!”

“You will! It’s silly!”

“I bet it’s not as silly as you think.”

“How much do you bet?”

“I’ll bet you a bowl of your favourite soup.”

Jean drags his hands slowly down his face and braces himself, he huffs, “My favourite is the lemony one you make with chicken and I was hiding because you’re wearing kitty mittens.”

 

He waits.

 

“Hah?”

Marco cocks his head to the right and scrunches his nose in the very signature way that Jean is so used to seeing him do from those many days spent being clueless together in advanced calculus. It’s his confused face and it is (you guessed right) fucking cute.

But even Marco’s face cannot save Jean from panic because the blond knows he is about 2 minutes away from the confession he has been dying to confront and avoid simultaneously. Thinking about telling Marco how he feels about him has always been on his mind and actively thinking about it always makes him sweaty, but now that he’s here and it’s too cold for sweat, he’s hyperventilating instead.

A voice inside his head keeps screaming very loudly and its fucking tantrum is not letting Jean concentrate on pulling together something even vaguely romantic. This is not going to end well this is definitely not going to end well he’s going to flush this entire thing down the drain and migrate to Australia under a new name.

He takes a deep breath, thinks ‘fuck it’, and decides to say the first that comes to mind. Because _that_ always ends well.

He looks to Marco with determination and puffs his chest. Things don’t go as planned. Things go downhill faster than ever before.

 

“You I like.”

 

Jean is going to become a sheep farmer in Australia with a dog named Pascal or Benjamin. There is no more hope left for him in Trost.

That’s all it takes. Three words and Jean wishes his species could hibernate like bears but for years instead of seasons because a season will not be enough to get over the fact that _his brain couldn’t even get the sequence right_.

_All he had to do was say ‘I like you’ and he couldn’t freaking do it._

The excess blood that had mercifully left Marco’s face returns with gusto and he is furiously blushing again. Jean groans miserably and shrinks away as the brunet’s freckles drown beneath the shade of red his skin becomes, the colour is awfully similar to that of Jean’s beanie and this is not romantic or wonderful at all. He is very sure that his own face is entirely devoid of colour and life both.

There is moment of silence between them, before Jean slaps himself hard on both cheeks.

“That…didn’t come out right.” he admits. The fact is new to no one.

Marco blubbers and pulls at his sweater. “Oh.” he whimpers, nodding frantically, and probably feeling embarrassed despite it being entirely Jean’s fault. It’s a little comforting at least because Jean isn’t the only one who’s freaking out but he does have to confess _again_ because of how pathetic it was the first time.

This time, he puts an explanation together and wills himself to speak, because how much worse can he really make it?

A lot, knowing himself, but he must take this risk. For Marco Bodt.

“Those mittens,” he says, pointing at Marco’s hands and ignoring his own heartbeat, “are really adorable and I have a crush on you so I… um. I couldn’t handle it.”

Marco clutches his sweater like a lifeline and makes a noise akin to very tiny animal; this tall, broad shouldered man of 20 who could probably throw Jean over his shoulder like a human sized potato sac. To be fair, though, he _is_ wearing those god forsaken kitty mittens.

“…Wow.” he mumbles, inching away slightly from the door.

“Yeah.” Jean bravely moves towards him and buries his own hands in the pockets of his hoodie where he can safely twiddle his fingers without looking uncool.

Marco smiles timidly and rubs his nose, preparing to speak while Jean prepares for imminent heartbreak.

“That _is_ pretty silly.” he says meekly and still red faced.

“I told you so.”

“But… it’s really, _really_ , endearing, too.”

Jean’s eyes snap up to meet Marco’s, a warmth rushing in his cheeks and the tips of his ears when he sees his crush smiling openly at him.

“You think me hiding from your mittens in a broom closet is _cute_?” he asks, bewildered. This can absolutely not mean what he thinks it means and what Connie and the rest of their friends had probably meant.

Marco pushes his hair back with his hand and shuffles a little shyly. This is definitely going where Jean thinks it’s going. His heart rate is absolutely wild.

“Well, yeah.” beams Marco, “It helps that I’ve had a thing for you since, like, ninth grade?”

Jean’s breath catches his throat and, for a second, the world is more perfect and unbelievably spectacular than it has ever been; until it hits him.

 

What the _hell_.

 

As if on reflex, Jean picks up a pillow from his bed and throws it directly on Marco’s shocked face. Marco looks extremely taken aback, but he freaking deserves it.

“ _Ninth grade_ , Marco? That’s like a century ago! Why didn’t you _say_ anything?” Jean is very pissed, he could have been _dating_ Marco by now! He could’ve been dating Marco if he’d come clean himself three years ago but he’ll totally ignore that for now, this one is all on Marco.

Marco opens his mouth to defend himself but stops and decides instead to hide himself behind the kitty mittens instead. Jean almost forgives him because of them. Almost.

A muffled sound comes from behind the mittens which indicates that Marco is talking, but he clearly doesn’t intend for anything to be heard.

“Marco I can’t hear you behind those. Speak up.”

The brunet groans dejectedly and slowly pulls his hands away from his face and looks pleadingly at Jean with the widest, most innocent, eyes he can muster. If not for the fact that _they could have been dating by now_ , those eyes would have melted Jean instantly.

“I just kind of assumed you were straight, so I never thought telling you would go anywhere.” he confesses, looking extremely guilty.

“ _Marco Bodt!_ ” Another pillow flies to Marco’s face and he accepts this one with total submission. Jean stares at him flabbergasted.

“Well, we never discussed our sexualities and you use Axe all the time, okay?”

“You thought I was straight because of _Axe body spray?_ ”

“ _I’m so sorry!_ I thought you wanted to get all the ladies!”

“ _Marco_! I talked about how hot the football coach was, like, all the time!”

“Jean! _Everyone_ talked about Erwin Smith, like, all the time!”

Yet another pillow attacks Marco’s still very gorgeous face, but this one is met with some resistance. There are only two more left, Jean must use them wisely.

“ _Axe body spray_.” hisses Jean. Never has he felt more offended in his life, and he never expected this from Marco Bodt, of all people.

“Alright then, how long have you liked _me_?” asks Marco, arms folded and eyebrows wiggling.

Jean is hesitant, but he answers, “Three years.” Quietly, though, hoping that Marco won’t hear and use this against him, but his friend yearns for revenge.

As expected, Marco totally uses this information to his advantage, “ _Three years!_ Jean, you didn’t even think I was straight! What’s your excuse?”

Jean grumbles loudly and throws his large angry face emoji pillow at Marco, who catches it and dumps it onto the little fort that seems to be building up around his legs.

“I thought you liked Thomas Wagner.” he whines, frowning at the ground. He knows full well that Marco did not like Thomas Wagner but Thomas Wagner was totally in love with Marco and Jean absolutely hated the guy and his goddamn sideburns for it.

“Jean, Thomas Wagner was my _lab partner_ and I complimented him _one_ time because he was good at anion analysis.”

“That was enough for me.” It really was. Jean was pitifully jealous for days after, but he’s not about to admit that outright.

Marco sticks his chin up and looks contemplatively at the roof, and says, “I can’t decide if that’s better or worse than me.”

“Marco, _Axe body spray_.”

“Alright, you have a point.”

“You owe me for that, big time.” says Jean, crossing his arms and setting his ass down on the bed. Marco looks at him for a second or two and decides that it’s okay to join him. He settles down carefully next to Jean, clenching and unclenching his fists on his thighs and thinking about what to say next.

 

It’s when he watches his hands, and listens to Marco’s soft breathing next to him, that he fully realizes what has just happened between them.

And his body freezes stiff.

Marco Bodt likes him. Marco Bodt who is so incredible and selfless and is the one big love of Jean’s life, likes him.

“Holy _shit_.” he breathes, staring in awe at the mittens that started it all. Marco tenses up and he’s close enough that Jean can feel it happening.

“W-what?” Marco searches his eyes carefully and follows his gaze to the mittens, still confused.

“You like me, and I like you.” says Jean, confirming the miracle that has just taken place out loud.

Marco giggles, and Jean can see the way his laughter lines hide one of the freckles that are closest to his eye.

“It’s all a little unbelievable, isn’t it?” he hums, “In retrospect, I realize I’ve been pretty dense.”

Jean laughs, “We both have, I think.” Marco smiles at him, the special one that he saves only for Jean, and pokes him gently on the cheek where his dimple is with a quiet ‘Duh!’

Before Jean even realizes it, his hand moves to cradle Marco’s face and he can feel his warmth in his own icy fingers. He notes the four freckles on the bridge of his nose that fall almost perfectly onto a line and connects them in head they way he always does when he gets the chance to be close enough, hyperaware of each point of contact that they share. They lean in together almost subconsciously, and Jean presses their lips together with a swarm of happy butterflies in his stomach that start to sing where Marco presses back. It’s better than he’d ever imagined, nothing in his head could ever compare to how soft Marco’s lips are or how sweet he smells or the warmth of his breath on Jean’s cheek.

It feels like the most natural thing that could ever happen.

He doesn’t even crave for much more, or pull Marco any closer than he already is, because everything feels too perfect to rush and too perfect to not savour. He’s sure that they’ll have a lot of time to do a lot more and kiss a lot more, so he isn’t even annoyed when Marco suddenly breaks away to throw the last pillow at Jean’s face.

“I got you back!” he laughs in triumph, pressing an innocent kiss to the tip of Jean’s nose.

Jean smiles, pinching Marco’s cheek and finding himself feeling more satisfied with life than he has in a long, long, time.

 

And, somehow, it all started with Marco Bodt’s mittens and a broom closet.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure Connie's somewhere downstairs crying tears of joy, but he's probably not the only one.
> 
> (thanks for making it through, pal!)


End file.
